Prelude
The Timeless Way of Building is a book I’ve long held on my reading list but, I have refrained from reading it until now due its’ high price ($78 CAD!). I stumbled upon it in my local bookstore recently and thought that the time had come to make the investment and lo and behold we are here now.
This is a book that I’ve been aware of for some time and while I kind of forget exactly where I first heard of it (maybe Paul Graham, maybe doomscrolling Goodreads reviews, maybe some other blog writer recommended it?) I do remember that it was Henrik Karlsson who convinced me it was worth reading. He specifically waxes lyrical about the concept of unfolding (which Alexander only mentions in passing in this book).
After reading Poor Charlie’s Almanack I’ve been quite inspired by the idea of acquiring and applying mental models from a variety of disciplines. I’ve heard loads about how this book particularly inspired many programming paradigms like object-oriented programming and software design patterns. As a result, I figured that this book could lend itself to other disciplines outside of architecture and urban planning and serve up some nice additions to my arsenal of mental models.
Sometime last fall I took a particular interest in design upon watching a video of a young man by the name of Miles making a nightstand. I was quite inspired by his design process which demonstrated mindfulness, deliberation, and strongly utilized the spontaneity of his immediate instincts and emotions. I appreciated how some decisions were left solely to feeling and took little time, while others — when appropriate — only arrived after careful thought.
The fashion in which Miles captured the beauty of the process reiterated to me how the general process of creation can be so rewarding. Whether it be programming a path-planning algorithm, building a chair, or building a Lego set. This video rendered salient how I naturally gravitate toward environments or things that make me feel this aliveness or type of tenderness (or perhaps possess some special quality a "quality without a name" if you will).
In the months following my exposure to Miles' work I sought to learn more about design and treat my environment with the same considered nature he demonstrated. I sought out texts on design like Don Norman's The Design of Everyday Things. I rearranged my apartment several times, in search of a configuration that felt just right. I also started looking at simple yet "high delta" ways to improve the atmosphere and beauty of my apartment such as acquiring light bulbs with warmer light or populating my walls with beautiful artwork. Clearly, reading this book was timely.
The Timeless Way
So this book first identifies that some places just have this quality. Our author calls this the "quality without a name" and relates it to qualities such as wholeness, aliveness, naturalness, etc. He claims that this quality is more specific than all the aforementioned qualities and that the best places have this particular quality. I personally agree. When I think of places that make me feel the way the author describes I think of the courtyard at my mother's family home in Manastir, North Macedonia. I think of the dining/piano room of my cousin's old family home. I think of how it feels to walk down University Ave here at Queen's during peak autumn where the fall foliage closely resembles the school's colours.
The best way to understand what this quality is, is to look at how it manifests in humans. Alexander describes it having one's inner forces resolved. Meaning one is free, they have let go of any inner tension, they do not act like they are someone else, they are authentically themselves. To get the best idea of what this quality is I'd suggest to read the book but this excerpt I think does the best at capturing it:
Nothing to keep, nothing to lose. No possessions, no security, no concern about possessions, and no concern about security: in this mood it is possible to do exactly what makes sense, and nothing else: there are no hidden fears, no morals, no rules, no undercurrent of constraint, no subtle sense of concern for the form of what the people round about you are doing, and above all no concern for what you are yourself, no subtle fear of other people's ridicule, no subtle train of fears which can connect the smallest triviality with bankruptcy and loss of love and loss of friends and death, no ties, no suits, no outward elements of majesty at all. Only the laughter and the rain.
He then goes on to describe how we can identify this quality in buildings and places:
We can identify the towns and buildings, streets and gardens, flower beds, chairs, tables, tablecloths, wine bottles, garden seats, and kitchen sinks which have this quality — simply by asking whether they are like us when we are free.
Finally after introducing the reader to what this quality is, he begins to describe how these places that have what I'll refer to as the quality of aliveness, are characterized by the pattern of events that unfold there. Preserving a core idea from The Design of Everyday Things he explains that geometric "patterns" (what are more abstractly referred to as "affordances" in Norman's book) allow these events to take place. He then explains that these geometric patterns can be alive or dead, if alive the quality of aliveness emerges.
The Gate
So now that some of the central concepts have been summarized. We can dive into the theory and actionable items from the book. Alexander advocates for the use of pattern languages in design. These patterns must be derived from first-principles in some way and should relate to one's lived experience. He lambasts the "modern" architect as someone who is ego-centric and acting in hubristic fashion. He makes the case that their more theoretic, monolithic, and/or centralized fashion of design inevitably leads to a building or place with dead patterns.
He describes that in the past, people have shaped buildings for themselves, locally, and they have been doing it all this time (implicitly) through the use of pattern languages. Patterns can be thought of as the building blocks of any design, they allow one to form a language of sorts that help characterize a town, house, or even a chair. Each pattern in a language forms a sort of hierarchy with interdependencies and each pattern when "initialized" or "implemented" (I'm strongly borrowing from object-oriented programming terminology here) has some sort of forces linking it with other patterns that are linked with it. In order to make the final product alive, not only do you have to choose good patterns to form your language, but you need to make sure the final implementation also leaves no force unresolved.
As alluded to previously, these "patterns" can describe different objects at different scales. For example a chair can have it's own pattern language but then the chair itself can be included in the pattern language of a garden.
But how do we know what's a good pattern and what's not? Well Alexander says we've largely forgotten what constitutes a good pattern and he pretty much says we need so work our back towards creating one which is shared and living once again. This part of the book made me feel a bit discouraged as I don't see this happening anytime soon, at least in my home town of London, ON. London is a fast-growing city, with no geographic limits (e.g. greenbelt wrt Toronto) developers have been stretching the city limits outwards and have only recently been developing denser housing. Due to the scale and speed required for these projects many of the suburban single-family home projects have been quite sore on the eyes and follow the same cookie-cutter design everyone (at least in London that I know) abhors. To make things worse Carney is now pushing modular homes made from mass timber which will inevitably lead to more ugly and dead homes. Unfortunately this is required to combat the severe housing shortage Canada faces and the issue of aliveness is more a luxury a country without cost-of-living issues can tackle. Nevertheless, this practice can still be applied to the interior design of say, one's own apartment, and it is something I have already attempted to apply in my own abode.
Anyways, Alexander pretty much makes the case that we need to rediscover these patterns for ourselves through our own lived experience to figure out what's alive, what's not, and to create a language for ourselves that we can then share with the world. His more famous work A Pattern Language — the second volume in the series —acts as a reference guide to patterns as they pertain to different scales of design (towns, buildings, homes, things, materials, etc.).
The Way
He spends the last big part of the book going through how to use the language we've constructed in different contexts. In general, to contrast the negative qualities of the hubristic modern architect, Alexander thinks the best approach to design is one that is intuitive, decentralized and modular (but not in the prefabricated lego block sense).
One may think that coming up with a language of specific patterns is too restrictive and goes against that "freedom" that Alexander's philosophy is seeking to impose but I think he quiets down these concerns well enough:
The rules of English make you creative because they save you from having to bother with meaningless combinations of words.
Most possible combinations of words are mere jumbles ("cat work house tea is," and so on). There are far more of these nonsensical combinations than of the combinations which make sense.
Suppose you had to search in your mind, among all the possible combinations of words every time you wanted to say something you would never even get to the things you want to say: and you certainly would be unable to say anything that expressed deep feeling or meaning.
He then goes on later to stress that:
The only medium which is truly fluid, which allows the design to grow and change as new patterns enter it, is the mind.
Representation there is fluid: it is an image, yet an image which contains no more than essentials-and it can change, almost of its own accord, under the transforming impact of a thought about a new pattern. Within the medium of the mind, each new pattern transforms the whole design, almost by itself, without any special effort.
along with:
Imagine trying to build sentences by shuffling words around on a piece of tracing paper. What terrible sentences. The act of speech is a spontaneous, and immediate response to a situation. The more spontaneous it is, the more directly related to the situation, and the more beautiful.
Which I think taken together make a lot of sense to me, especially with how Alexander ends the book by pretty much saying that once we've learned the patterns and formed a language, we should actually forget them (i.e. no longer use them consciously or directly). We should instead at this point be able to use them in a way that is visceral, instinctive. Throughout this whole process we would have been reprogramming our own intuitions surrounding design and at a certain point we longer require the guiding hand of a systematic language, we are free to design without ego.
This interpretation may be a bit hazy (and frankly I definitely could spend more time thinking and reading about his overall message) but, I just wanted to finish writing this review lol.